


Sober

by alphaofallcats



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Cheating, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotionally Repressed, Eren is just really drunk okay, Eventual Levi/Eren Yeager, Hurt No Comfort, I might make a sequel, Jean deserves a good night's sleep, Love Triangles, M/M, Not Beta Read, One-Sided Relationship, Pining, Unrequited Love, also sorta?, and all the love because he's hurt, drunk!Eren, i sure don’t, one sided Eren/Jean, sorta?, too much whiskey, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 00:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12544760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphaofallcats/pseuds/alphaofallcats
Summary: Jean kind of wishes Eren would fall in love with him. But he'll always be third to Levi and alcohol.





	Sober

There was a bottle of whiskey grasped tightly in Eren’s hand. Jean wanted to imagine Eren’s hand wrapped around something else, but every time the thought tempted him, he could only picture Eren’s paint-stained fingers and Levi’s pale skin. 

With every sip, Eren shredded another piece of clothing, and Jean felt like he had been dealt a poor hand in a cruel game of strip poker he was never meant to win. The odds weren’t on his side and his bluff slipped as Eren’s clothes accumulated. Scuffed sneakers, mismatched socks, an old sweatshirt of Mikasa’s; next time Jean blinked Eren’s glasses were missing too.

“You’re a mess tonight,” he said, collecting the shoes and the socks and the sweatshirt. He couldn’t find the glasses.

Eren just stared at Jean, almost looking through him, his green eyes glazed over. His cheeks were bright and rosy and his whole body was heated from the buzz.

“I’m not drunk.” Eren’s voice was too serious. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, his brows furrowed, little wrinkles creased across his forehead. He looked grumpy, if Jean was going to be entirely honest, and he knew it was only because Eren was stubborn to prove himself. 

This wasn’t the first time Jean had heard that either. Eren had a track record that ran quite long, in terms of discussing his hindered sobriety, because he was the type of drunk to deny that he was drunk. He could spend the whole night downing shots, chugging beers, toasting champagne, and sipping wine, but he always claimed that he was totally sober. It never changed, no matter who he was with or where he was, and Jean kind of hated him for it. 

“You’ve told me.”

“Have I?” Eren asked, putting the bottle on the coffee table. He blinked a few times and then ran a hand through his hair, pulling off his knit hat. He let it fall onto the armrest and Jean quickly added it to the growing pile.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” he sighed. “Don’t you think you should stop before you fucking puke all over the couch?”

“I’m not drunk,” Eren said. Again.

Jean groaned in frustration, rubbing his temples and cringing. “I have work tomorrow.”

The lines on Eren’s forehead disappeared as he jumped out of his seat, and Jean eyed him suspiciously. The action was too seamless for someone five shots in, but Eren slammed his hands together in an obnoxious clap, giving Jean this goofy smile that made his toes curl.  
“Work makes you pissy,” Eren started, tilting his head slightly. It reminded Jean of a puppy, one that whined needlessly for attention even though it shit on the carpet while you were at work. “And you know what? You shouldn’t go to work because it does make you pissy and upset and you don’t look good when you’re upset. Well, you do. You’re hot all the time, but your smile! Your smile makes you so pretty, Jean…”

Jean purposefully frowned at him.

Eren shifted closer, with a hesitant grin, and he reached his hand up to brush his thumb across Jean’s cheek. Jean knocked it away, the contact too intimate for the feelings he was hiding behind a grimace. If Eren was going to touch him it couldn’t be because Levi was ignoring him. 

An irritated huff left Eren’s lips. Jean rolled his eyes, turning to ignore him and look for his glasses. 

_He must have dropped them somewhere..._

“Jean, listen to me,” Eren pouted, stomping his foot a little. His face was blotchy and angry again. 

“What are you going on about now?”

“I’m not drunk,” Eren said, exasperated. “And I want to tell you that your smile is so pretty, Jean, and I want you to smile more, how do I get you to smile more? Or laugh? I’ve never heard you laugh; do you know how?” He suddenly toppled forward, grasping Jean’s forearms with a concerned look in his eyes. “Can you laugh? Is your vocal– um– your voice box broken? Do you know how to laugh? Are you allowed to laugh?”

Jean wanted kick Eren out. But Eren had knocked on his door, crying and slobbering all over his shirt, messy and begging for a drink. And that was Jean’s first mistake, caving and letting Eren drink. His second mistake was agreeing to let Eren stay over instead of driving him back home. But was Eren even allowed home? With how routine these nights were becoming, Jean couldn’t be sure if Levi finally had enough. 

“I know how to laugh.”

A gleam flashed in Eren’s eyes as he licked his lips. “Are you ticklish?” he asked, stepping closer.

“No!” Eren let go of his forearms, his fingers reaching out for Jean’s sides. “Eren I swear to whatever god you’re worshipping this week that I will cut your fingers off if you attempt to tickle me.”

“So you are ticklish? Where? Your feet? Or your stomach? What about your-”

“Eren,” Jean said, voice as close to agitation as he could muster. “I have to work tomorrow, and I cannot be up with you all night. Let me find your glasses, put you to bed, and go to bed myself. Please? You can ask me all you want about my ticklish spots tomorrow.”

He tried not to blush, he really did.

“Promise?” Eren whispered, voice smoothly soft, lips quirking upwards in a more careful smile – one that wasn’t devious or deceptive. “I thought you were going to call in sick?”

Jean sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that night, turning around again to hide the red in his cheeks – _those damned glasses, where are they?_ – before he took a few more deep breaths and said, “No. I’m going in tomorrow. But it’s Friday, so I won’t have to go in on Saturday and you can hang out with me all you want then. We can even go out for breakfast too, if you get up before noon.”

Reaching out, Eren tugged Jean close. He spun around with every intention of knocking Eren away again, sputtering protests as he went, but found himself compromised when Eren knocked their foreheads together. He smelt like cheap whiskey and Levi’s cigarettes, and Jean couldn’t avoid the ache that sprouted in his chest with the realization that this is what Eren was, whiskey and not his–

Eren’s lips were chapped and rough, it was stupid because Jean was standing at an awkward angle, but somehow in his dizzied state of mind, Eren straightened them out. Jean was slouching, hunched down to keep close, and Eren’s arms slipped around his waist to hold him in place, their lips chasing and bruising. 

When Eren’s fingers pressed below the hem of Jean’s shirt, Jean pulled away, looking at Eren, wild and desperate. Eren eyes were still closed as he hummed softly to himself, nails scraping Jean’s hips. After a moment he looked at Jean, his face glowing so brightly with barely contained happiness that Jean’s stomach dropped.

The room felt all too hot when Eren’s thumbs traced across his hip bones, his tongue and teeth pressed greedily against his throat. His voice was heavy when he whispered, “I wouldn’t have done that if I was sober.”

Mind fuzzy, Jean could barely process the words, not when Eren was still nipping under his jaw. He was embarrassed by the jolts of white, hot pleasure that shot down his spine every time Eren’s tongue swiped over the fresh bite marks. 

“Bed,” he gasped, finally managing to surface from his haze. 

Eren looked wrecked, with swollen lips, tousled hair, and hooded eyes. 

“Together?”

Jean chewed the inside of his cheek. 

“No.”

That view wasn’t meant for him.

\----

The guest room was always chilly. Jean gave Eren an extra blanket, too bothered to change him into a spare set of pajamas. Maybe on another night he would have forced the other into proper clothes, but not tonight. Eren crossed a line that Jean had been toeing for a while, and it left his stomach queasy, skin crawling.

_If Levi only knew..._

Leaving a garbage bin next to the night table, Jean set down a glass of water and some aspirin for the morning. He’d be at work by the time Eren woke up. Jean wasn’t sure if that was upsetting or relieving.

Brushing back the hair from Eren’s eyes, he whispered, “Get some rest.”

Already fast asleep, Eren didn’t respond.

Before turning the light off, Jean dared another hopeless look. This was another view he wasn’t meant to see, Eren tucked on his side, snuggled under the blankets, warm and quiet, breathing softly.

What was going to happen tomorrow? Would Eren remember? Would Levi know? Would Jean ever get another look at those bright eyes – eyes that were definitely drunk and not sober, eyes that wanted to play a game with lips – or was this the last time? 

Maybe Eren was supposed to be snuggled into Jean’s sheets, sleeping off a bottle of whiskey that was meant to fix his problems. Maybe he could fix them, everything, Eren.

Jean didn’t find out. By the time he got home from work Eren was gone and all Jean was left with was a replacement bottle of whiskey and a small, yellow post-it-note. He crumpled it and chucked it in the trash.

**_I’ll call you when I’m sober x_ **

\----

The call came sometime later. It was a simple request to meet for breakfast. Jean wanted to cancel, to deny Eren the time of day, to show that he didn’t care anymore. He showed up late to get his point across.

“I heard that you’ve been laying off the whiskey,” Jean said, reaching out for his coffee mug. He looked up to meet Eren’s eyes, watching as they sparkled with a warmness that Jean craved. He averted his gaze and settled for sipping his coffee.

“Levi told me I had to get my shit together.”

Jean scowled. “I’ve told you that before.”

“But Levi was going to kick me out.”

“He _did_ kick you out.”

“He would have meant it that time. It was my last fucking chance,” Eren said, licking the syrup off his fork. “I had to clean myself up.”

Jean wanted to be mad. He wanted to say _you puked in my bathroom more than once and I spent hours cleaning out the cracks in the tiles each time_ , but he couldn’t. He couldn’t be mad at Eren, because it was never about Eren showing up at his door, wanting to get drunk. It wasn’t about Eren drinking to forget about Levi, to forget for a moment that his relationship was all about booze and bickering. It was about the fact that Jean wanted to forget too. And on the nights that Eren showed up at his door, he could believe, however briefly, that Eren wasn’t just using him as an overnight distraction, that Eren didn’t just need a place stay until Levi’s temper cooled. He could believe he meant something, anything – everything.

“He told me a while back that if I sobered up we’d get married,” Eren said, pushing his plate away.

“I’m not blind.”

Instinctively, Eren pulled his hand back to play with the ring on his finger. Jean watched, eyes following the movements with a hard gaze. It stung in all the ways the replacement bottle of whiskey had.

A silence followed. Jean wanted to reach across the table and steal kissed that tasted like syrup, not whiskey. He wanted Eren to remember the drunk kiss that was followed by weeks of silence. Except it wasn’t really silent; Eren and Levi had more fights and Jean had more work. The silence between them was filled with static from their lives, the lives that were always meant to be separate.

He met Eren’s eyes, finally noticing that he was wearing the glasses Jean couldn’t find.

Maybe Jean really wasn’t supposed to pick up all of Eren’s clothes. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to tend to wounds and nurse headaches. Maybe the whiskey was all Eren needed.

“At least you don’t look like shit anymore.”

Eren gave him a cocky smile. “Yeah, because I’m not drunk.”

Maybe Jean was never supposed to see Eren sober.


End file.
